


passionate kisses, or 5 times Angie and Will accidentally kissed and the one time it was on purpose

by lizook12



Category: Single Parents (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:40:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21826084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizook12/pseuds/lizook12
Summary: “You really don’t know what you’re getting into here, Will.”“Oh, I think I have some idea.”
Relationships: Poppy Banks/Douglas Fogerty, Will Cooper/Angie D'Amato
Comments: 12
Kudos: 101





	passionate kisses, or 5 times Angie and Will accidentally kissed and the one time it was on purpose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spyglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyglass/gifts), [itsalwaysfour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsalwaysfour/gifts), [mystarsandmyocean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystarsandmyocean/gifts), [lazyevening](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyevening/gifts).



> Much love to **katayla** for the feedback and for enduring three thousand words of a show she does not watch.

i.

It starts completely innocently. 

Really. 

They’ve been tasked with “chaperoning” the third grade Snowball. 

Ok, _she’s_ been tasked, Will—reveling in reclaiming his throne as room parent—has happily volunteered.

She can almost guarantee he was the one who choose Snowball as the theme, too. Forget the meteorological likelihood of ever seeing snow in their part of California. 

Or that this is more like an extended recess than a dance. 

Sure, there are decorations and music playing loudly, but a game of tag has broken out near the punch bowl and a bucket of sidewalk chalk sits open on bleachers. 

Plus, their kids are camped out under one of the refreshment tables. 

Will has been… quiet… since they arrived. His back pressed to the wall, arms loosely crossed as he tracks the parade of kids in and out of the restroom. 

(She knows the past few weeks have been rough, that KZOP’s sale has made his position at the network unsure and she has this weird want— _need_ —to make it better. 

To remind him that meteorologist is only one of the very many dorky, wonderful hats he wears. 

That seems too close to the line she’s constructed though.

Dangerously close.) 

The music downshifts and before she realizes what she’s doing, before she can even fully consider it, she’s grabbed his hand and is pulling him away from the wall. 

They can still see the entire gym from here and if she stood there listening to Taylor Swift for another minute she might be forced to admit she actually enjoys a few of the new songs. 

Right, D’Amato. 

“Ang—” His arms are already around her, brow slightly furrowed as he continues to scan the room. 

“Don’t. Let’s just…” She takes a step closer, smiles as a group of girls start swaying together under one of the basketball hoops behind him. “I could use the distraction, Cooper.” 

He looks doubtful, gaze searching hers a long moment before tugging her forward, closing what little space remains. 

They easily find a rhythm, even as the tempo of the song shifts and she lets her head fall to his shoulder, her eyes slipping shut as his hands flex lightly on her back. 

If anything happens he’ll be on top of it. 

(And this way she can’t look behind her to see her line.) 

The song is winding to a close, slowing back down, when she feels it. 

The whisper of his mouth across her temple, his voice low in her ear. 

_Thanks_. 

ii.

July brings a heat wave ( _“It has to last at least five days before it’s actually a heat wave, Ange…”_ ), a new reality show to binge, and Christmas decorations. 

In July. 

July!! 

This is what they got for letting Rory choose the theme for the big back-from-vacation gathering. 

(She refuses to dig out Graham’s holiday t-shirts though, they’re shoved somewhere under the bed. Or in the back of his closet. Maybe in with the box of ornaments?) 

They’re all crammed into Poppy’s living room, the kids piled on one couch rifling through a box of decorations while the adults place them as directed. 

Miggy is humming _Santa Baby_ and she’s about two seconds away from telling him to shut it when Will joins in. 

Dorks. 

Instead she turns to Poppy, only to find her friend helpfully holding a cup of thumbtacks that Douglas is using to hang garland around the kitchen entry. If two people could gaze lovingly at one another over a container of thumbtacks it’s apparently Poppy and Douglas. 

Sighing, she grabs the star for the small, artificial tree they’ve erected and jams it on top. 

“Perfect.” Sophie gives her a thumbs up before handing her an ornament. “We can work on the tree while Dad and Miggy finish the fake snow.” 

“Yeah, how many do you think we can cram on here?”

“Maybe half of Poppy’s stash?” 

“More like…” Amy’s head tilts as she glances from the tree to the ornament box and back again. “A third, assuming we only place one on each branch and leave a couple open spaces.” 

“Well, let’s just see how close you are.” She hands over a pile of ornament hooks and then stands back, unable to stop herself from smiling as the group converges on the tree like the Peanuts gang at the end of _A Charlie Brown Christmas._

She could use a little water so she heads for the kitchen, only to bump in to Will, who’s on his way back from spraying fake snow on the window above the sink. 

“Rory insisted we carry the theme through the house.” 

“That’s just good sense.” 

“It’s hard to—”

“Mom!” Graham’s voice cuts him off, quieting the room as he points wildly at the doorway. 

She knows what she’s going to see even before she looks up. 

She’s going to kill Poppy. 

Or Douglas. 

Or both of them, she’s really not picky. 

Besides this way they don’t have to live without one another. 

Yes, no one can fault that logic.

“Ange, we don’t have to.” He tips the spray can towards her, the ball bearing chiming rapidly against the side. “It’s just a silly superstition, the kids aren’t—” 

“No, we don’t.” She sneaks a glance at Poppy, who’s watching entirely too closely for her liking. “It is tradition though.”

Will barely has time to register her words before she rocks up on her toes and brushes her mouth across his. The spray can muffles between them as his free hand tangles loosely in her hair and she smiles, her breath hitching high in her chest as pulls away. 

“There.” Her hand smooths over his shoulder as she moves to step around him. “Merry Christmas in July.” 

iii.

“Any idea what time it is?” She kicks off her shoes and steps into the highly manicured grass. 

“No idea.” Will’s voice is muted in his knees as he bends down, trying to make sense of the outdoor games they’re in charge of setting up. “Douglas insisted on no watches during the ceremony. Something about it being a symbol of timelessness.” 

“Sounds more like a Rory mandate to me.” Lowering herself to the ground next to him, she smooths her skirt and begins helping separate the giant Jenga pieces from the bocce set. “Douglas Fogerty having that boy as a stepson is going to be a neverending holiday for us all.” 

“Christmas and Halloween and Arbor Day all rolled into one.” 

“You would throw Arbor Day in that list.”

“I make Sophie pancakes shaped like little trees every year.”

She’s sure he does and the idea of him meticulously squeezing pancake batter into a pan, spindly branches blossoming into leaves, is more warming than she cares to think. 

Can’t think.

It’s bad enough that over the past three months—bridal party event after bridal party event—Poppy has been questioning her about that damn mistletoe kiss. 

She’d resorted to using Derek of all people ( _“He’s wanting to spend more and more time with Graham, I’m really focused on that.”_ ) as misdirection, but she’s pretty sure Poppy hadn’t bought it.

Ok, she was 100% positive she hadn’t. 

Hell, she barely bought it. 

Still, didn’t the woman have other things to worry about? She was marrying Douglas, after all.

“You ok over there?” 

Will has sorted out the bocce and is beginning to stack up the Jenga blocks, his brow furrowed in the setting sun. 

“Yeah, it’s just been a long day and we still have the reception to go.” 

She feels more than sees him nod as she pushes up on her knees and joins him, blocks easily sliding into place as they work in companionable silence.

At least Poppy had picked comfortable dresses. 

And the wedding at Douglas’s club had been pretty nice. 

Oh, who was she kidding. Yes, she was exhausted and hungry and probably would need Graham to drive her home, but the day had been absolutely beautiful. 

She really _did_ need something to eat soon—they’d had quite a bit of Prosecco between the ceremony and the pictures—but most of her duties were, thankfully, over. 

They just had to get these games organized and they were all set. 

“Do you really think anyone is going to play these?” Her elbow bumps against Will’s as they both reach to complete the current tier of the tower.

“The kids, definitely. And after dinner and the first few dances…” He shrugs, hands her another block. “I can see some of the more competitive people enjoying it.” 

“That was aimed at me, wasn’t it?”

“Perhaps.” 

“Oh, you’re going down, Cooper.” She jabs his shoulder with a block, the corner of her mouth lifting as he attempts to school his features into some sort of game face. “Just name the game and it. is. on.” 

“Bring it.” 

This is why she loves him, he may come across as mild mannered and somewhat dorky, but the man is passionate about what enjoys. 

Never backs down. 

“You really don’t know what you’re getting into here, Will.”

“Oh…” His lifts the final piece of the set, pushes lightly on _her_ shoulder. “I think I have some idea.” 

He completes the last row and then, she honestly doesn’t even see it coming, his arms are around her, his mouth pressing urgently to hers. His teeth tug at her lower lip and she sighs against him. 

Leans further in to him. 

Her fingers skirt along the collar of his suit jacket, across the back of his neck as he starts pressing kisses to the corner of her mouth, along her jaw—

And Jenga topples to the ground. 

He jumps back, color high on his cheeks, breathing uneven. 

Out of control.

Her foot is buried under the pile of blocks, heart pounding in her chest, and all she can do is laugh.

It eases the tension and soon he’s laughing, too, his head shaking slightly as he unearths her foot and starts lining up pieces three block rows. “Come on, let’s build another tower.” 

iv.

They’re squeezed at the very top of the bleachers, pressed together from hip to knee, Will’s foot bouncing in nervous excitement. 

She’s about five seconds from threatening to cut his whole leg off, when he starts drumming his fingers instead, his shoulder bumping against hers.

If she were claustrophobic, this would be complete hell. 

Pressed against him in this humid gym while teachers and judges swerve between student display after student display. 

Who knew fourth grade science fairs drew such a crowd? 

This is what they get for going back for an actual camera. Their phones would have been fine, but Will had insisted ( _What if they place? Mia will want something more than a tiny cell phone picture and I’ll want to get it framed._ ).

So they’d turned around halfway to school and gone back for his camera. 

With a telephoto lens. 

Which he was going to need because these had been the only seats in the whole gymnasium when they’d finally arrived. 

At least she’s not stuck standing at the end of the basketball court where she wouldn’t be able to see over whoever stopped in front of her. 

“I remember my first science fair. Sixth grade, Mrs. Crominsky encouraged me to participate.” He stops to glance back to where their kids are standing next to their project. “I’m glad they were paired up; they enjoy spending time together.”

“They’re…” She debates for a long moment. She can either stay focused on the kids or continue this thing they’ve been dancing around for so long. “They make a good team.”

“They do.” It gets lost a little in the noise of the crowd, but she hears it just the same. Feels his hand brush over hers before he clears his throat and faces her once more. “Anyhow, I made this display on the water cycle—” 

“No doi.”

“And came in fourth. Fourth Angie!”

“So you didn’t make the podium.” 

“Please, there was no podium, just a picture in the paper for the top three… Oh, I see, you knew that.” 

She laughs, her shoulders shaking a little as the principal steps to the microphone and begins reviewing the rules and prizes. 

It drones on for awhile. 

So long that by the time she’s announcing the winners, Will has dropped his camera to between their feet and she has completely zoned out. 

It isn’t until she hears her last name—her _son’s_ last name—that she realizes they’ve won... something…

“...taking the top spot for their Hovercraft composed of a CD and balloon. Congratulations!” 

She’s on her feet immediately, arms around Will, her eyes pressed closed as she lifts her in the air. “They won???” 

“They won!!” He lifts her even higher, hands flexing in the curve of her waist. 

“I knew my Tears for Fears CD would be useful for something!” 

He laughs, lowering her back to the bleachers, fingers still settled against her side. “First place!!!” 

“Yes! A free trip to the science museum and—” 

The rest of the prize is lost against his mouth as they collide together. Joy and excitement and any damn excuse they can find.

It’s quick—too quick—the press of their lips, the scrape of his beard against her jaw. 

There’s too many prying eyes around though, even if they might as well be on another planet where they’re standing. 

Sighing, she leans down and gathers her purse and the rest of their things, hooking his camera over her shoulder. 

He gives her a small smile and a nod of thanks and then loosely twines their hands together, tugging her down towards the gym floor where their children wait. 

“Let’s just hope…” She bites her lip, pushes everything but her happiness for Graham away. “Poppy or Miggy got a picture of them actually winning…” 

v.

She smells like owl.

That’s all she can think. 

She’s tired and sore and smells like owl. 

How she got roped into the zoo field trip, she can’t remember, but… never again. 

Of course, the reason she got roped in is squished in the school bus seat next to her. 

Will had used his position as reigning room parent (no one even attempted challenging him) not only to advocate for the field trip destination, but to hand pick his assistant chaperones. 

He’d even made them themed name badges.

(Hers was a crane; his a lion.) 

There had been a lot to see and plenty of children to keep track of, but getting pulled into the bird show as the parent “volunteer” (aka all their children pointed at her) had been the last straw. 

She’s going to need to sleep for a month. 

Poppy and Douglas are stationed at the front of the bus, Douglas’s knees practically in his chin, while she and Will sit in the last seat. This way the only possible escape from adult supervision is through a window and she doubts any of the kids are that desperate. 

She has to hand it to Will though, she always did find it odd that most chaperones take the front seats, forcing themselves to sit backwards for the whole trip. 

At least she won’t get motion sick or have a cramp in her neck when this is all over. 

Still, she’s been sleeping off and on since they left the zoo. 

Making sure Graham didn’t decide to try and pet a sloth, that the twins didn’t attempt to construct an entirely new habitat for the monkeys… it’s been a lot. 

They still have at least an hour ride left and she decides to close her eyes just for a few minutes; Poppy has it covered. 

When she wakes again her head is against Will’s shoulder, his arm slung over her shoulders. 

“Hey…” His voice is low, roughened by sleep, his thumb stroking slowly across her collarbone and she wonders if he even realizes he’s doing it. “We’re almost home, maybe another twenty minutes…” 

“Hmmm, ok.” She starts to lift her head—she wants to make sure Graham is awake and to start strategizing the best way to get out of the parking lot without getting caught up in class election campaigning—and their gazes lock for the briefest moment. 

It’s warm and familiar and she still refuses to name it. 

If she names it, they actually have to talk about it. 

Instead, she decides to ignore it. 

She checks on Graham out of the corner of her eye and then sits back to relax once more.

She _is_ still tired, after all, and who’s going to say no to another ten to fifteen minutes of sleep? 

Will apparently has the same thought though, his chin bumps against her forehead as leans back in the seat and then his lips follow, whispering over the same spot. 

“Sorry...” He mumbles it softly, his hand squeezing her upper arm.

“It’s—” 

But she doesn’t even know what she was going to say because now he’s kissing along her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth…

And then he’s kissing her fully, soft yet fevered, his fingers burning against the nape of her neck.

“Sorry.”

It echoes against her skin as he pulls away, breath rattling sharply as he loosely crosses his arms over his chest and stares straight ahead. 

She shuts her eyes and doesn’t sleep for the rest of the trip. 

vi.

It’s a week and a half later. 

They’ve just finished a four hour marathon of _Joust!_ and she’s clearing their mess—a bag of popcorn, a pile of napkins—from the coffee table. 

Realistically, this is the point of their week where he promises to pick Graham up for carpool in the morning, takes the garbage out, and heads home. 

Quick.

Easy. 

This week she wants— _needs_ —him to linger. 

Tossing the garbage in the can, she leans against the wall by her fridge, waits for him to follow her in and, sure enough, in another minute he’s there, lifting the full bag from the can. 

Instead of turning for the door, he drops it under the chair his coat is draped over. 

Out of the way, but visible. 

“So about last—” 

“Angie—” 

She laughs as they both motion for the other to continue. They might as well be in fourth grade with their kids. 

This might be easier then. 

“Look I know, we’ve had some… moments… recently and…” She presses her eyes closed for a brief second, opens them to find he’s stepped closer, one eyebrow lifted in question. “I really like you, Will. Like… like _like_ … and if you want to just go on pretending you’re just an adult in Graham’s life I’ll figure out how to deal with it, but you’re not and I think you know tha—” 

The rest of the carefully constructed speech she has (she may have run some options past Poppy) flies out the window because Will is kissing her. 

Really kissing her. 

All teeth and tongue, his hands slipping under the hem of her shirt as he backs her up against the kitchen counter. 

His fingers skate across her skin and then—she laughs, her head falling back—he’s lifting her onto the counter, stepping into the bracket of her knees. 

“Can’t believe…” His teeth scrape down her throat. “So long…” 

“Mmm.” She sighs, her fingers twining in his hair, pulling him back up to her. 

There’s less desperation when their mouths meet again. 

No, it’s give and take. 

Heat and joy and… 

_love._

It’s everything. 

She blows out a shaky breath, her hand splaying across the nape of his neck as his forehead falls to hers. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi.” She whispers it back, the corner of her mouth lifting in the fading sunlight. 

“I really, really want to talk more about this but…” He tips head to his coat, the forgotten bag of trash. “I have to be home somewhat on time. Miggy has a date and I’m watching Jack in exchange for him having watched Sophie.” 

“I get it.” She skates her hand down his chest and presses a kiss to his cheek as she slides off the counter. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning before carpool.”

“Ok…” He shrugs into his coat, grabs the bag and his keys before ducking his head to capture her lips again. “It’s a date.” 


End file.
